Chapter 5 - The Final Settlement
Two months later, the final divorce decree was signed in Judge Evelyn Vance’s courtroom downtown.
The proceedings had been remarkably swift once Jacqueline Foster presented the financial audits and the audio transcripts of Adam’s call. Derek’s attorney didn't even attempt a defense; he simply advised his client to sign the paperwork, surrender all claims to the Raleigh property, and pay fifty percent of my legal fees to avoid a full public trial over corporate fraud and marital misrepresentation.
The house sold to Dr. Harrison for $1,425,000 in clean, certified cash.
After paying off the remaining mortgage balance, clearing legal fees, and settling minor property distributions, my bank account reflected a staggering net profit that completely eclipsed the modest savings I had started with when I bought the house five years earlier.
On a crisp December morning, I stood on the balcony of my new penthouse loft downtown.
The morning sun was rising over the Raleigh skyline, casting a warm, golden glow across the glass skyscrapers and the bustling streets below. The air was cold, sharp, and entirely clean.
My phone buzzed on the patio table.
I picked it up. It was a text message from an unknown number—though I recognized the area code immediately.
“Maren, please. Mom had a stroke last week. She’s in rehab, and I’m drowning. Can we just talk? Please?”
I stared at the screen for three seconds.
Then, with a single tap of my thumb, I blocked the number, archived the notification, and deleted the chat thread forever.
There would be no seventh time. There would be no reply, no pity, no rescue mission, and no second chances.
A soft knock echoed from my apartment front door.
I walked inside, unlocked the heavy wood door, and opened it. Standing in the hallway was Celia Monroe, holding two steaming cups of coffee and a thick manila envelope.
“Good morning, homeowner,” Celia smiled brightly, stepping inside. “Are you ready to look at architectural blueprints for that coastal townhouse in Wilmington you wanted?”
May you like
I smiled back, feeling a lightness in my chest that I hadn't felt in years—not since the very first time Derek Sloan had casually mentioned his ex-wife over a celebratory dinner, teaching me a lesson I would never, ever forget.
“I’m ready,” I said, closing the door behind us and locking it securely.
